


Synchronicity

by fauxpromises



Series: Synchronicity [1]
Category: Dissidia: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy IX, Final Fantasy VI
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 22:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxpromises/pseuds/fauxpromises
Summary: “I didn’t mean to make such a lovely young lady cry,” he teased softly, still managing the deceptive air of infallibility even as she felt his slight trembling against her. “The audience isn’t supposed to weep for the villain, you know.”





	Synchronicity

**Author's Note:**

> _synchronicity_  
>  A concept which holds that events are "meaningful coincidences" if they occur with no causal relationship yet seem to be meaningfully related.

The lunar surface, Terra had discovered, was among her favorite places in the whole of this fragmented world.

Something as trifling as a favorite spot to rest and think alone held particular value for one such as her, who had spent many a cycle in the haze of mind control. Even with her memories of these past battles restored, much of her time was still shrouded by a fog of magic—the very same curtain that had claimed years from her in her faraway home.

It was admittedly a bit of a gloomy location. An eternal night sky watching over a barren landscape of rocks and blackened soil; none of the signs of life that she had come to appreciate since her return to herself were present here. By all accounts an inhospitable place for humans, and even the moodiest among her companions seemed to avoid it.

And yet, she found her heart lifted by the peaceful aura that the empty realm held, with a blanket of stars above and the brilliant view of a distant planet lighting up the darkness. The threat of dreadful memories resurfacing, along with thoughts of the miserable struggle that she and her companions were entrenched in—she could forget it for a short while as she stared into the beautifully endless sky.

She had been surprised, then, when her ally suggested that she might find who she was looking for in the vast lunar wasteland that had become her occasional refuge.

_“Somewhere good for brooding,” Zidane told her with a chuckle, arms languidly behind his head. Then—seeing Terra’s confusion at this description, as well as the apparent resolve in her eyes—he sighed._

_“Try the lunar surface. That’s where Cecil and his brother always go to be sadsacks.”_

He had not been wrong. She spotted the elusive man perched on a jutting outcrop of rock as she glided down to meet him, the bluish light of the sky bathing his silver hair in its otherworldly shine. It was not uncommon for any of the warriors to seek time alone in this world to contemplate the lives that most of them dearly missed—but something about his distant expression implied that this desolate solitude was not out of the ordinary for him.

Her boots made a gentle tapping against the ground as she lowered herself onto the cliffside. This won her only a short glance of acknowledgement, though evidently not surprise.

“Kuja?”

She spoke his name softly, confirming her presence. It was only polite, after all, she thought.

A few moments passed. The scarce distance between them suddenly felt like a canyon, and Terra gently touched at her waist sash in discomfort. Perhaps it was a mistake to arrive unannounced, much less with a burning question in her throat.

Relief came as his blue eyes regarded her with the dismissiveness she knew to expect from him. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Terra—was it?”

Terra smiled at this, his half-hearted sign of familiarity, and stepped forward to close the space between them.

“Yes. Am I disturbing you?”

He shrugged, gaze moving lazily away from her and back to the sky. “I wouldn’t ask a lady to just stand there, now, would I?”

Still showing some traces of the timidity that she had been steadily working to overcome, Terra seated herself on the rocky ledge. It was indeed a pleasant spot to view the sky, a delicate crystal structure in the distance rising up to touch the stars.

The gap she left between them was generous, but the scrutinizing glance this garnered made her wonder once again if she was being intrusive. The wry smirk that came next only further obfuscated her ability to make sense of the situation.

“You, my dear, have not answered my question,” Kuja stated plainly, head canting slightly to the side in amusement. “This is hardly among the more cheerful vistas in this world, as I'm sure you're aware. Would it be a stretch for me to guess that you sought me out deliberately?”

The girl was quiet for a moment, the soft violet of her eyes drifting back down from the sky to her hands in her lap.

“I had said I hoped we would meet again, didn’t I?” she replied, a mildly teasing tone in her voice. “Our final battle is drawing close. There wasn’t much time left for that to come true.”

She hadn’t meant for these last words to come out sounding so _sad_ , but now she felt that intense sapphire gaze pinning her in place once again. The way he looked at her was decidedly not predatory, like Kefka’s remorseless eyes as he spoke pretty words to his plaything, but the fathomless blue depths betrayed some degree of vacancy that she felt an intimate familiarity with.

The blank stare of one who did not— _could not_ —understand the intricacies of emotion shared so freely between others. It was a struggle she still fought with daily as she watched her companions laugh and joke and speak of the ones they loved back home. These things, she understood on _some_ level, but it was still a language she was far from fluent in herself.

His response only confirmed her fleeting suspicions.

“I can’t say I understand _why_ you had any desire to meet again,” he spoke almost accusingly, airy voice already losing the coyness he had first shown. “I have a feeling that you’ve mistaken me for a hero in this production, and I’d see an end to that delusion before it crushes your fragile little heart.”

“You broke Kefka’s spell on me.” The hint of force in her voice earned her a raised eyebrow, and she closed her fist in her lap. “I would still be his slave right now if it weren’t for you. I don’t think that’s a very villainous thing to do.”

Kuja shrugged again, glaring harshly at her as his fingers drifted into his hair—something she sensed was a rare show of defensiveness for him. “ _Kefka_ is a perpetual thorn in my side that has haunted me through nearly every cycle of this petty conflict. Breaking his toy was the least I could do to repay him.”

Her fingers closed on his flowing sleeve. The expression of determination on her face, combined with their proximity, seemed to render him motionless.

“Then why not just kill me?” Terra countered adamantly, the wavering pitch to her voice so unfamiliar to her own ears. “Or make me _your_ slave? Why—of all things— _help_ me? Do I not deserve the small courtesy of an explanation?”

The silence hung heavy, the other mage's gaze now pensively fixed on where her hand connected with him. She hadn’t summoned the courage to come out here only to be haughtily denied a reason for that which had gnawed at her mind ever since their last brief encounter. The startling emptiness of the eyes that rose to meet hers in thwarted anger would have caused any other being to shrink back, but Terra already knew that her own eyes surely reflected the same soul riddled with holes.

And then—as if swept away by the wind—the mist of wrath dissipated from his icy stare. Fingertips brushed lightly against the back of her hand, reluctant, before taking it in his. She did not allow the fortitude in her expression to falter as he brought her clenched fist to rest between them.

“I _despise_ those who fancy themselves puppetmasters, and that clown took quite a disgusting pleasure in playing at it.” Her fingers gradually relaxed in his grasp, which she now noted was surprisingly firm for his benignly angelic appearance. “I, myself, have both held the strings and been pulled by them. Neither are a role to envy.”

Kuja cast his gaze downward again, a stray lock brushing his cheek. “You are that which is called an esper in your world, isn’t that right? Magical beings of great power that may be called upon to aid men in their battles?”

Terra was silent for a moment before finding her voice. Kefka must have told him of the nature of her abilities, she supposed. “Half-esper. Yes.”

“For much of my life I dreamed of commanding such a power. And once, I held it ever so briefly in my hands, too,” he explained bitterly, still not bothering to look at her. Was it shame that compelled him to hide his face, now? “But it was all for naught, you see. My fate had been prescribed long before I dared to have any thoughts of changing it.”

“It’s never too late to change your fate.” The young woman had dropped her voice very low now, some of her soft demeanor returning. “I had thought I was lost, too, until I found something to live for. My friends, and the children—they taught me about what I was missing.”

His blue eyes were on her once again, almost revealing curiosity instead of the usual disinterest that he seemed to wear much more readily. “And what were you missing?”

Terra smiled shyly, shifting her hand to hold his loosely instead of resting limp in his grip. “Love. I still don’t think I really get it, but I feel a little bit of it sometimes, when I’m around my friends. I'd like to think I’m getting better at it.”

“Love?” he repeated, clearly amused. “One of the most poignant elements of the human drama, certainly. Many a great work of art is inspired by it.”

“Do you not have anyone to love, back home?” the young woman asked abruptly, noting the impersonal way in which he spoke of it.

She was greeted with only a derisive laugh at this suggestion. “You forget that we all are not returning to enjoy the fruits of victory and a land free from the villain. Not those of us that _were_ the villain.”

“You still have time to make things right, don’t you?” There was sadness in her voice, and she did not like the way in which the amusement in his expression quickly shifted to become rather grim.

“I’m afraid not," he answered gravely, eyes now averted from her imploring gaze. "The curtain has already fallen for me.”

The oddly pleasant warmth of his hand around hers gradually fell away. The meaning of this was not lost on Terra, and she hesitated for words. An unmistakable emotion—fear—had crept into his typically calm and self-assured visage, and she could not stop herself from being reminded of a frightened child. A memory of crying orphans that clawed at her from the inside, visceral, and at once the hot stinging of tears pricked at her own eyes.

She felt that bitter sorrow anew as she leaned into him, overcome by a familiar sense of powerlessness that reached to places long forgotten within her. Kuja was rigid against her at first, a sharp inhale escaping him as she rested her cheek on his chest and delicate fingertips at his back. It took a moment before she felt him hesitantly place a hand between her shoulder blades, a clear attempt at comfort.

“I didn’t mean to make such a lovely young lady cry,” he teased softly, still managing the deceptive air of infallibility even as she felt his slight trembling against her. “The audience isn’t supposed to weep for the villain, you know.”

Her eyes came up to meet his again, tears melting into a frown. “ _I_ do. I won’t forget the kindness you’ve shown me, even if you _still_ won’t admit it.”

That sly smirk of his had returned as he gently brushed a tear from her cheek, followed by an elaborate sigh. “ _Oh_. If it will dry your tears, then, consider your thanks accepted.”

The ability to breathe briefly eluded her as his lips ghosted against her own, a tender touch trailing along her throat, and she absently held on more tightly to the loose strands of silver that fell behind him. His careful movements lacked the lofty confidence and grace that characterized his magic, peculiar evidence of the limits of his arrogant charade—the gap between that which he knew and that which he did not. The capriciousness of the whole affair was an aspect of him that she couldn’t help but be drawn in by.

Perhaps this was another type of love that she had not yet discovered, she thought. Terra felt him smile into her as she giggled, delight overtaking her senses in a heady rush. She allowed him to be the one to slowly pull back, taking care to conceal the hint of an unnerved flush in his face as he cast his gaze back to the heavens.

Terra found herself feeling intrigued that he had shared a vulnerable moment with her that was so clearly out of his element—someone of infinite pride that put an enormous amount of effort into maintaining a flawless persona. The fact that he still held her close to him only further undermined that pretense of snide indifference.

“I’ve been told,” she began softly, still smiling, “that kissing is a sign of love. Is that true as well, where you come from?”

Another smirk, and his fingers roamed from the small of her back to tease at her blonde curls. “I _destroyed_ the world I came from,” he deadpanned. “I don’t expect anyone is doing much of anything there, now.”

There was an almost comfortable silence between them then as she closed her eyes for a moment, thoughts flitting elsewhere—the perpetual deciphering in her head of the dense tangle of emotions that she rarely felt certain about recognizing.

An odd string of events had intersected her fate with his; the sense of similarity she had found between the two of them, and the fascination with the mysterious mage that she had been gripped by after he had _twice_ intervened on her behalf. The need to know _why_ that had compelled her to seek out a direct answer, and the surge of emotion that the denial of it had brought out in her.

And, most curiously, the warmth that now filled her chest as his reverent touch lingered upon her cheek.

It all felt like another piece of the puzzle to understanding love, in all its many forms, and she thought that perhaps this form of it was something— _special_. She only wished that they had more time together in this realm, that she might prove to him that his fractured soul could be made whole again just as hers had begun to.

“You should return to your friends,” he finally spoke, cutting into her thoughts. “I suspect that Zidane told you where to find me, and it wouldn’t do to have him come looking for you out here.”

He slowly separated himself from her, carefully brushing at the wrinkled fabric of his robe. Terra had to smile at this in amusement, though the loss of contact left her feeling a new kind of emptiness that she found wholly unfamiliar.

“You’re right,” she said, giving a final glance up at the starry landscape. “Our companions will be missing both of us, I’m sure.”

“Speak for yourself,” Kuja shot back playfully, though the distaste in his eyes affirmed the truthfulness of the sentiment. “And…give my regards to Zidane.”

She was already on her feet as he said this, and that tiny ripple of happiness swelled in her at the softness with which it had been spoken. She nodded as a portal opened in the distance, beckoning her toward it.

Terra smiled to herself as she sprang into the air, toward the fate that awaited them all. She couldn't shake the thought that she was lucky to be leaving this place with more to be thankful for than when she had arrived.


End file.
